


Yours, Mine, and Ours

by Sugakane_01



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent (not between Stiles and Derek), I swear I don't think it's as bad as the tags might make it sound, Light Bondage, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past dubious consent (as it applies to Derek and Kate), Possessive Derek, References to Domestic Violence, blink and you miss it bloodplay, canon character death (as it applies to Kate), kind of a mate!fic but not really, past minor canon character deaths (as it applies to mama Stilinksi and the Hales), references to non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugakane_01/pseuds/Sugakane_01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is one of the best retrieval specialists in the business.  Derek is the best cleaner that money can buy. They occasionally work together but they aren't partners.  They often sleep together but they aren't in a relationship.  The only thing between Stiles and Derek is a mutually beneficial arrangement that results in great sex and monetary gain. That's all that they are and that’s enough.  </p><p>Until Derek starts to think that maybe it isn't.  </p><p>(AKA a really random White Collar/Leverage influenced AU where Derek figures out that even though he's carrying a mountain of manpain, he can still have nice things.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours, Mine, and Ours

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Like The Naked Leads The Blind](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/26676) by Sugakane_01. 



> Okay so as you can see by the link up there this is a remixed work. Just putting that out there first thing b/c you know...clarity and transparency and all that good stuff :)
> 
> Moving on, I think I tagged correctly but if there's anything I missed please feel free to let me know. If you want further clarification on the non-con and domestic violence references, as well as the dubious consent, please see the explanation in the end notes.
> 
> * * *

 

 

Stiles and Derek aren't friends. They aren't partners. They aren't even lovers, not in the sense that people mean when they use that word. There's nothing soft and sweet or nice and easy about what they have. Derek and Stiles are simply two people who have semi regular sex, live their lives coloring outside the lines and occasionally work together for the mutual benefit of their bank accounts. Derek has his people, Stiles has his and sometimes the two groups combine briefly to become their people, but that doesn't make Stiles and Derek _StilesandDerek_. It isn't a partnership and it certainly isn't a relationship. The fact that they sometimes – often – _always –_ end up in bed together doesn't change that.

Stiles always leaves before the sun breaks over the horizon, when he's still got the inky black of the night sky to use as a cover. His leaving is such a standard part of their routine that Derek doesn't even stir when Stiles sneaks out in the early morning hours. There's a vague sense of longing but no real surprise a few hours later when Derek's alarm goes off and he wakes up to find that he's alone with nothing but long cooled sheets on the other side of the bed smelling faintly of Stiles, sex, sweat and _them_. Derek doesn't bother to look for a note before padding into the kitchen to load the coffee machine. He knows Stiles didn't bother to leave one, the same way that he didn't bother to ask Stiles to stay.

It's not personal. It's just them.

* * *

Derek doesn't bring people to his home, not anymore, not since Kate. He let his guard down once and as a result his entire world went up in flames.

Whatever else he may be, Derek Hale is a man who learns from his mistakes.

Derek has a couple of places he keeps in the city. The loft is for meeting up with his crew, planning, training, and strategizing. The condo is where he brings his one night stands. But no one, save Laura and Peter when they drag themselves up from California for a visit, get to come into his _home_. Not Boyd, Danny or Isaac, not his fuck buddies, not his allies or associates. Derek's home is _his_. The pictures that he managed to salvage, the keepsakes that he stores in a box on the top shelf of his closet and the smell of lemon, rosemary and vanilla that's close enough to evoke memories but still not quite right are his and Derek guards the things that belong to him as if he were King Midas protecting his gold.

At least that's the way Derek lived his life before Stiles. For reasons that Derek doesn't want to examine too closely Stiles is different. Sharing his space with Stiles isn't abhorrent or even uncomfortable for Derek. Stiles's scent clinging to the sofa and covering the books in the library, his shadows on the hardwood floor, his voice bouncing off of the shower tiles as he butchers Check Yes Juliet and his presence as he makes himself at home in Derek's space feels  _right;_ that Stiles has become a familiar sight, scent and sound in Derek's home is not something that Derek tolerates but rather a change in routine that he welcomes.

Derek isn't unaware of the similarities between Stiles and Kate. There's so much about Stiles that feels familiar because of Kate: The wicked sarcasm, fierce independence, steel core of inner strength, and keen intelligence. The fact that Stiles is a vicious schemer who will lie, cheat and steal if he feels that the end justifies the means and enjoys the process of playing the game almost as much as he does the actual winning. The similarities unsettled Derek at first but over time he's come to realize that everything Stiles seems to have in common with Kate is only on the surface. Kate used sarcasm offensively, to intimidate and humiliate whereas Stiles uses it as a defense, to keep from being intimidated or humiliated. Kate's independence had been a shield, a way to remind people that she didn't need or want anyone too close but Stiles's independence is a badge of honor, a way to prove to people that he lets them in because he wants them there, not because he needs them to do something or be something for him. Kate used her strength to destroy her enemies but Stiles uses his to protect his loved ones. For all that they appear to have in common, Stiles and Kate couldn't be more different.

Even their physical similarities fall apart under closer inspection. Stiles is gorgeous, but there's no denying that so was Kate. As utilitarian as he can be Derek has always been able to appreciate beautiful things and Kate and Stiles both fit easily into the category of beautiful things. But where Kate's beauty rested on the surface and once Derek dug a little deeper it cracked and splintered off into something twisted and ugly, with Stiles the opposite is true. The farther beneath the skin Derek looks, the more beautiful Stiles becomes. His beauty transcends the physical. What Stiles has is substantial. It has depth and weight and goes far beyond facial symmetry and eye color. What makes Stiles beautiful is more than pretty pink lips and a gently upturned nose, deeper than sinfully long lashes and petal soft pale skin. Stiles's beauty is buried down in his bones, carried in his scent and proven by his spirit. Stiles's beauty enthralls Derek in a way that Kate's never had. Stiles makes Derek feel safe in a way that Kate never could.

Having Stiles around soothes Derek. It calms him, insomuch as someone as energetic as Stiles can be calming and soothing. Stiles is insatiable about everything: Food, adventure, sex, information. Stiles is ravenous when it comes to all of it and he isn't ashamed to indulge his appetites. He's never shied away from asking Derek probing, personal questions and he's devoured every answer Derek has deigned to give him and come back for more. With anyone else Derek would have found the curiosity invasive, intrusive and intolerable but with Stiles he merely finds it endearing.

Derek isn't grounded by Stiles in quite the same way he is by Peter and Laura when they visit. Stiles isn't family and he's not pack (yet) but more and more he's starting to feel like he _could be_ , like he _should be_. More and more it's starting to feel as if Stiles is Derek's. When he comes over it's as if he _belongs_ in Derek's kitchen, teasing Derek about thinking he's fancy because none of his wine comes from a box and wondering what kind of self respecting bachelor doesn't have a single box of Easy Mac in his pantry. Stiles keeps going, needling Derek about the amount of meat in his freezer and accusing him of killing Bambi when he comes across the venison until Derek crowds into Stiles's personal space, wraps his hands around his thighs, hoists him up onto the countertop and kisses the words right out of his mouth.

Derek wakes up the next morning to smell of coffee and a note from Stiles telling him that breakfast is in the microwave.

* * *

Contrary to every romcom Derek's ever made Laura sit through, things with Stiles don't change much after that. They both have more important things to do than sit in a circle and talk about their feelings.

They've just gotten back from Chicago, working a job for one of Derek's contacts and they're standing out on Derek's terrace. Stiles is pointing out the constellations and telling Derek the stories behind them but Derek isn't really paying attention. He knows that the stories hold meaning for Stiles, that they come from a mother that he barely mentions and Derek only knows is dead because Stiles let it slip when he was drunk one night, but Derek really can't concentrate on whatever it means that Stiles is sharing this with him when he's in front of Derek in nothing but a pair of Derek's purloined pajama pants. The pants are slightly too big and they keep sliding down to reveal the finger shaped bruises that Derek had pressed into his hips the night before.

Derek really can't be blamed for pushing Stiles back against the sliding glass door and sinking to his knees so he can suck him off.

Besides, Derek already knows the story of Lupus.

* * *

Derek has no idea where Stiles lives and Stiles doesn't have Derek's private number. Stiles doesn't show up unannounced and uninvited and Derek doesn't have Danny hack into any government records to track down Stiles's address. Not that Derek needs Danny to find Stiles for him; Derek could do that all on his own.

 _If_ Derek wanted to that is.

But he doesn't want to.

Much.

And he doesn't need to because between work, the intermingling of their people (Boyd, Derek's enforcer is seeing Stiles's grifter Erica, Stiles's second and best friend Scott and Derek's master thief Isaac have begun a bromance for the ages and Derek's hacker Danny has begun hanging out with Stiles's getaway driver Jackson and his girlfriend Lydia) and the fact that Manhattan is surprisingly small when you travel in the same circles they manage to see each other on a regular basis. On the off chance that they're apart for more than a few days they have ways to get in touch. Stiles will _coincidentally_ have a craving for the blueberry scones at the bakery in Derek's neighborhood or Derek will track Stiles down and _just happen_ to run into him while he's out shopping, running, or picking up his dry cleaning.

Or, one time when he got particularly desperate, at the college Stiles attends that up until that day Stiles had thought Derek didn't know about.

Derek had known that Stiles was a student; finding out that Stiles was a _freshman_ had been an unwelcome surprise. Derek could have done without the reminder of exactly how many years there are between the two of them and exactly how young Stiles really is.

Stiles is far too young to be in the business.

Hell, if Derek is brutally honest Stiles is far too young to be in Derek's bed.

But the reality of the situation is that Stiles is there, both in the business and in Derek's bed.

Derek can only bring himself to regret one of those things.

In those moments when they've come back together after spending a little too much time apart they let their bodies speak for them and tell each other with kisses and caresses what they can't with words.

_I missed you._

* * *

There's more than law breaking, sex and sarcasm between them. Sometimes they talk, have actual conversations and share stories about their pasts, their friends and families, explaining through stories and memories how the boys they used to be grew into the men they've become.

Derek tells Stiles that the first time he ever got arrested he was seventeen and got pinched for assault and property damage after being in a bar fight. Stiles returns the favor by telling Derek the first time he ever got arrested he was sixteen and his father was the one who slapped the cuffs on him.

"That must have made for one awkward family dinner," Derek laughs.

Derek can smell the pain before he sees it, it's a sharp, and bitter scent tinged with salt and he hates the way it drapes itself over Stiles. Derek hates the way Stiles's hunches in on himself and how the smile Stiles gives him doesn't quite reach his cognac colored eyes.

"By that time my mom was dead and we weren't having family dinners anymore," Stiles says.

"I'm sor-"

"It was my fault she died," Stiles shares, talking over Derek's attempted apology. "I had snuck out to go to a party. She went into my room to tell me goodnight and found out I was gone. Instead of calling the station and telling my dad to go round me up she decided she'd do it herself," Stiles smiled briefly. "My dad and I, we were kind of butting heads and I guess she didn't want to throw fuel on the fire. She was always on my side, you know? She used to cover for me all the time and I guess that night was no exception. She called me and told me to come home but I'd been drinking so she didn't want me to drive. She was on her way to get me when she was hit by a drunk driver. She was in a coma for two months and then she was just gone. My dad he um…he hasn't been able to really look at me since."

Derek doesn't know what to say so he keeps quiet. The seconds turn into minutes and then Derek can see the flash of panic when Stiles thinks he's pushed a boundary that maybe he shouldn't have and Derek, for reasons he doesn't want to look at too closely, rushes to reassure him that he hasn't.

As a general rule Derek doesn't put his pain on display but then again neither does Stiles and if a nineteen year old can man the fuck up and say something real then so can Derek.

"I don't have any family except for my uncle and my sister, everyone else died in a house fire when I was in high school. It was my fault. I fell in love with a facade, gave every single one of our secrets away and my family burned because I was too blind to see the truth beneath a lie. And the person who did it, her last words were that she was sorry," Derek meets Stiles's eyes. "I know she didn't mean it but at least it was the last lie she ever told."

Stiles burrows into Derek's side and twines their fingers together. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "She may not have meant it but I do. I'm really sorry, Derek."

"I'm sorry about your mom. And your dad." Derek tells him softly.

They fall asleep curled up in Derek's oversized arm chair watching The Dark Knight and arguing over whether Christian Bale or Michael Keaton was the better Batman with their fingers still curled around each other.

* * *

A week later they're in Derek's bed, sweaty and sated. Stiles has squirmed out from under Derek and is resting his head on Derek's stomach, tracing a nonsense pattern of swoops and swirls on Derek's skin when he evidently decides it's the perfect time to give Derek a heart attack. "Hey Der?"

Derek's danger senses go off at the use of the nickname. They don't use nicknames — Stiles's notwithstanding. They don't do terms of endearments or have the kind of pillow talk that gets sweet and sappy. Stiles is either about to ask for something Derek won't want to give or tell him something Derek doesn't want to hear.

Neither option is appealing.

"Yes Stiles?" Derek asks as he tries to force the tension out of his body.

"I've been thinking—"

"No good has ever come from that."

"I'll have you know I'm the brains of my operation."

Derek snorts. "No you aren't. Lydia is."

"It's a collaborative effort. I come up with the broad strokes—"

"And she works them into something that won't get you all killed or imprisoned."

"I am a tactical genius," Stiles insists.

"You keep telling yourself that," Derek huffs.

"Keep talking Hale. You'll wake up to a freezer devoid of meat and a fridge full of tofu."

"Touch my meat," Derek says lowly, "And I'll rip your throat out. With my teeth."

Stiles dissolves into a fit of hysterical laughter. "Oh my God. Oh. My. God. You don't even, _oh my God_ I have to tell Scott."

"What the hell is so funny?" Derek grumbles, annoyed that he's being laughed but enjoying the vision of a flushed, happy Stiles sprawled out on top of him nonetheless.

"I can't touch your meat Derek," Stiles questions, raising up slightly and poking Derek in the chest. "You sure about that? You don't want me to _touch your meat_. Not even a little?" Stiles laughs, waggling his eyebrows.

"You are a child. You are twelve years old," Derek says flatly.

"Oh my God. You told me not to touch your meat," Stiles cackles. "I cannot believe I think I might maybe be a little bit in love with you when you are this tragic."

Derek freezes. "You what?" He asks wanting to make sure he heard Stiles correctly.

Stiles stops laughing and clears his throat. "I ah, yeah. I think that—"

"Say it slowly," Derek demands.

"Ooookay," Stiles says, giving Derek a judgmental side eye. "I said I think that I might maybe be a little bit in love with you."

Stiles heartbeat stays steady and Derek relaxes.

He's not lying to Derek but with that many qualifiers Derek knows there's no need to panic because whatever Stiles is feeling, he's nowhere near ready to do anything about it.

"Stiles, if you just _think_ that _maybe_ you _might_ be _a little bit_ in love with me, trust me kid, you aren't in love with me," Derek laughs.

"You rude motherfucker," Stiles says as he slides up Derek's body and straddles his hips. "First of all, I'm a fully legal adult, not a kid. Don't use my age as an excuse to be a condescending bag of dicks. Second of all, I could totally be in love with you and you _laugh_ at me? What is wrong with you, Derek? That-that is so impolite. Who laughs when someone lays it all out there like that? Were you raised by wolves?"

"Not actual wolves," Derek answers solemnly.

"Seriously fuck you," Stiles spits, rolling off of Derek, scooting to his side of the bed and turning his back to Derek.

"You aren't in love with me," Derek says again, turning so that he can spoon Stiles and ignoring the fact that he just mentally referred to it as Stiles's side of the bed.

"I could be," Stiles insists. Even though Derek can smell the top notes of spice in his scent indicating Stiles is still angry he doesn't pull away but instead scoots back into the heat of Derek's body.

"If you were in love me I'd know where you lived," Derek says quietly. He can feel Stiles stiffen in his arms, hear the spike in his heart rate and then feel it when Stiles forces himself to calm.

"Your place is nicer," Stiles deflects.

"How would I know that?" Derek snaps.

"Because I've never lied to you," Stiles answers softly.

Stiles's heart keeps its rhythm and Derek rolls him over and fucks him into the mattress.

The next night they spend at Stiles's place (Stiles wasn't lying, Derek's place is nicer) and before he leaves in the morning Derek programs his private number into Stiles's cell.

* * *

For all that they are alike there are fundamental differences between Stiles and Derek. They may be in the same game but they don't play by the same rules. There are methods that Stiles doesn't employ that Derek won't hesitate to use. Stiles talks a good game but he's never actually harmed anyone. Derek doesn't really talk at all but he doesn't have to.

His reputation—and the body count that comes along with it—do the talking for him.

Stiles and Derek have been mostly quiet about what's going on between them. Derek's people know better than to ask –or even speculate about-their relationship when Derek is in earshot. Peter and Laura don't know Stiles's name or any of the details, but they are aware that Derek's been keeping regular company with someone. The lack of detail doesn't stop them from being over the moon about it. It's been years since Derek has let himself have anything beyond a string of one night stands and Derek knows they're choosing to believe that Stiles being a semi-permanent fixture means that Derek is finally settling, moving on and putting the past behind him. He knows they want to believe that he is letting Kate go and finding someone worthy of taking up the space she left in his head and in his heart.

Derek tries to tell them that they're wrong but every single time he tries to utter his denials the words die on his lips. It doesn't take long before he realizes that even though Peter and Laura aren't entirely right, they aren't entirely wrong either.

Derek knows that Stiles hasn't said anything about the two of them to his father. Even if the relationship between Stiles and his dad hadn't been strained name dropping Derek Hale to law enforcement—even if said law enforcement is family—isn't smart. And Stiles is far too clever to make such a stupid mistake. He knows from things that Isaac and Boyd have let slip that Stiles is a little more forthcoming with his friends than Derek is but Stiles isn't giving out details or putting any labels on what this thing is between them. All this means is that they've played it smart. Derek has been quiet and Stiles has been as discreet as Stiles can be expected to be. It gives Derek a certain sense of security. Derek has made both powerful friends and ruthless enemies and he'd rather Stiles remain under the radar of both for as long as he can keep him there.

Unfortunately, Derek's quiet and Stiles's discretion can only delay the inevitable for so long and eventually their luck runs out.

One of Derek's rivals has been keeping tabs on him and been made aware that Stiles is a semi-regular overnight guest. Deucalion used to be a power player but he's been regulated to the fringes after some of his more aggressive "recruitment" strategies ended up with him targeting the wrong person and losing most of his people to a combination of the graveyard and the prison yard. The fact that Derek had more than a little bit to do with that has been a bone of contention between the two. Now Deucalion is looking to put himself back in play and wants to use Derek and Derek's people to do it. He proposes an alliance and Derek turns him down flat.

"Are you quite sure you want to say no to me, Derek?"

"I'm pretty sure I do," Derek nods. "Wait, let me think about it." Derek screws his face up in concentration for a few seconds before nodding again. "Yeah, the answer is still no."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Deucalion says smoothly. "Truly, I am. But not half as sorry as your little twink of a boyfriend is going to be. I'm generous man, Derek so I'm going to give you one more opportunity to give me the right answer: Are you sure you wish to tell me no?"

"I don't have a boyfriend," Derek snarls. "Don't approach me again or you'll be reunited with Ennis and Aiden a lot sooner than you'd like to be," he adds as he walks away. He shoots Stiles a quick text, telling him that he's on Deucalion's radar and to be careful.

Derek has a job in Miami. He does not have time for this shit.

An hour after Derek's flight takes off Stiles ends up in the ER. Derek doesn't find out about it until 71 more hours have gone by and he gets back from Miami to find a pissed off Scott sleeping on his couch and a bruised and battered Stiles curled up in his bed. Derek sends Scott home, curls up with Stiles and after some uncharacteristically gentle probing he finds out that Deucalion is responsible for the purple splotches marring Stiles's complexion, the haunted look in his eye, and the low level smell of anxiety clinging to his skin.

Early next morning Derek kisses a sleeping Stiles on the forehead, slips out of bed and out of the apartment before the sun has even risen. Stiles is still asleep when Derek gets back in a little after ten. Derek doesn't wake him, he just showers and climbs back into bed beside him.

The top half Deucalion's body is discovered at four that afternoon.

His hands are missing.

"My being the victim of a hate crime has domesticated you. Who knew all I had to do to tame the wild beast was get the crapped kicked out me," Stiles remarks as Derek washes his hair.

"You weren't the victim of a hate crime," Derek corrects him.

"That depends on how you define hate crime."

"I define it as the victimization of an individual based on that person's race, religion, national origin, ethnic identification, gender or sexual orientation," Derek says.

"Well yeah if you're all hung up on the _actual_ definition," Stiles chuffs.

"How do you define it?"

"All I'm saying is that dude hated you and I got a beat down because of it," Stiles shrugs. "Sounds like a hate crime to me."

"I'm sor—"

"Don't apologize for him," Stiles interrupts. "You've got more than enough of your own baggage dude. Don't pick his up and start lugging it around too. You're gonna throw your back out. Besides, I'm fine, the indignity of getting my ass handed to me by a blind guy notwithstanding. Besides, karma totally made him her bitch. I wonder who he pissed off badly enough to cut him in half though. And missing his hands? That is some Pablo Escobar level shit right there. Was he into drugs? That seems like a drug thing. Or maybe the mafia. Do you think he knows what happened to Hoffa?" Stiles stops and squints at Derek. "Do you know what happened to Hoffa?"

Derek hums noncommittally. "Duke was into a lot of things but this didn't have anything to do with drugs. The man had a tendency to put his hands in places they didn't belong. Looks to me like he touched something he shouldn't have and someone finally decided to break his bad habit for him."

Stiles goes still and Derek finishes washes his hair. Stiles doesn't ask and Derek doesn't tell but there's really nothing to discuss. Derek knows that Stiles knows.  Stiles knows that Derek is aware that he knows. That mutual understanding is enough for the both of them.

Some stones are just better left unturned.

* * *

It's been three months and Derek and Stiles haven't seen each other since they said goodbye at Derek's front door the morning after Deucalion's body was found.

Derek has been back to Miami, making inroads with Marin Morrell and Stiles has been in Vegas securing something for Alan Deaton and enjoying his summer break amid the bright lights and off limits casino floors on the strip. They've exchanged a few texts just to swap resources but they haven't had any personal conversations because that's a thing they don't do. Calling because they miss each other, no matter how true it may be, isn't part of who they are.

Three months of minimal contact ends the moment they both wind up at the same nightclub.

Derek slams his shot back and smiles at Stiles. Stiles had arrived at the club with a perky, pretty blonde named Heather on his arm and Derek had motioned him over to where Derek was keeping company with a stunning, statuesque brunette. Even though they're both on dates from the moment Stiles slides into the seat across from Derek the two men only have eyes for each other. Derek sends Stiles a sultry smirk and Stiles smiles back but his eyes narrow and go cold when Derek's date starts mouthing his neck. Derek notices his reaction, smells the jealousy in the air but he doesn't do anything to stop Jennifer. Stiles stays at the table with them for a few minutes making small talk and looking anywhere but at the rapidly fading mouth shaped bruise Jennifer sucked onto Derek's skin before he excuses himself and his date, leading her off to the dance floor.

As he watches them Derek has to admit they make a pretty picture. Heather presses up tight against Stiles, grinding her hips into his and letting her hands have free reign to roam all over his body. Stiles seems to be right there with her, eyes closed, hands palming her ass, biting on his lower lip while she nibbles on his ear. Derek watches them for a few moments more before he makes his decision. He gives Jennifer cab fare, bids her goodnight and heads towards the dance floor.

Derek slides in behind Stiles, his chest against Stiles's back, hands gliding down his sides to grab at his hips. Stiles's head drops back onto Derek shoulder and Derek take opportunity lick a stripe along the exposed column of his throat. Heather frowns and pushes in closer to Stiles, tangling her fingers in his belt loops trying to pull him forward. Derek smirks at her and refuses to loosen his hold on Stiles, nipping him on his jaw. Stiles moans and Heather narrows her eyes and answers Derek's challenge, running her hands up Stiles's chest, over his sensitive nipples and then back down, brushing deliberately over the front of his pants.

Her familiarity with Stiles's body is Derek's undoing and his control slips. He slides one hand up to grip Stiles's hair and tugs. "Tell Heather to go home," he says into Stiles's ear while maintaining eye contact with Heather.

Stiles is silent for a beat and then he clears his throat. "Hey so Heather— "

"I could stay," Heather says, running a hand up Derek's forearm in a clear invitation.

Derek drags his gaze up the length of her body before motioning for her to turn around. Her cheeks flush angrily but she does so and when she completes the circle and faces Derek again he shakes his head, feigning regret. "Thanks for the offer," he says, working his hand under Stiles's t-shirt, "But I don't think we're going to need you."

"Fuck you," Heather snaps. "You're an ass. And so are you, Stiles. Don't ever call me again," she says before stomping off.

Her furious exit barely registers with Derek. He's too busy dragging Stiles off of the dance floor and into the men's room.

Derek jacks him off quick and dirty, his hands hot, rough and almost too dry and then takes Stiles home, handcuffs him to his headboard and fucks him until the only name Stiles can remember is Derek's.

* * *

The next time they see each other Derek shows Stiles exactly how Derek earned his reputation and nearly manages to scare Stiles away in the process.

Derek has heard through the grapevine—the grapevine being Danny—that Stiles is working another job for Deaton and it requires him to get a little up close and personal with their target.

Matt Daehler is a trust fund baby with more money and muscles than intelligence and a tendency to get a little too happy with his hands. Thanks the feelers he put out Derek knows that Matt's spent the better part of the day trying to buy his way into Stiles's pants. While Derek suspects that he'll have to pry the new gaming system Matt paid for from Stiles's cold, dead hands before he'll give it up, he also knows that Stiles hasn't suddenly become a gigolo. He's working Matt, keeping him occupied while Scott, Erica and Lydia search the guy's hotel room for a grimoire that Deaton has contracted them to bring him. Derek's sources tell him that Stiles's day of playing bait has ended with him in a VIP booth at Kingz-n-Queenz trying to ward off Matt's wandering hands.

Derek wastes no time in making his way across town. He normally doesn't interfere in Stiles's business but Daehler has a reputation for playing rough—with or without consent—and Derek isn't about to let Stiles become a casualty of Matt's depravity and Stiles's own over confidence.

Derek can _feel_ Stiles the minute he steps into the club. He briefly wonders when his awareness of Stiles's presence became so encompassing that he can pick his heart beat out amid hundreds of gyrating bodies, the distraction pulsing flashing lights and unrelenting thump of a techno beat. He wonders how it happened, how Stiles wormed his way beneath his skin, down into his bones, how he let it happen and how it's going to change things between them.

He wonders if his parents would be happy for him.

He knows Laura and Peter are.

Derek shoves those thoughts aside when he spots Stiles in a VIP booth with Matt hanging all over him and takes note of the way Stiles has his hand clamped down on top of Matt's keeping it still, forbidding it from creeping further up his thigh towards his crotch. Stiles doesn't _look_ distressed; he's smiling up at Matt, telling some ridiculous story, keeping his champagne glass strategically placed in front of his mouth so Matt can't try to sneak a kiss but Derek can _smell_ the sour scent of his panic and it pulls on his control hard and fast.

Derek scans the club once, twice and then again a third time and there's a flicker of irritation when he confirms what he already knows—none of Stiles's friends are inside providing back up. Derek turns his gaze back to where Stiles and Matt are and the flicker bursts into a flame.

Matt has somehow managed to get Stiles to put his champagne glass down and has him pressed back into the booth with one arm caging Stiles in and the other sliding down his side and under the table and Derek doesn't need to _see_ to _know_ what Matt is trying to do with that hand.

What Derek _can_ see is that Stiles clearly wants Matt's hands off of him. When the guy won't take the hint Stiles does something to make Matt yelp in pain and jerk away before moving back and wrapping his hand around Stiles's bicep. He whispers something in Stiles's ear that makes Stiles smell like hurt and fear and Derek is _done_.

When he approaches them he can hear Stiles talking fast and furious, trying to placate Matt and get him to back off but Matt is having exactly none of it. Stiles is growing tenser by the second, his fingers stealing out and stretching towards one of the crystal decorations on the table. Between one breath and next Derek is at their side, the hostility practically rolling off of him in waves, crashing and breaking over the two men in the booth and threatening to sweep all three of them away under the swell of his rage.

Stiles smells both relieved and apprehensive at Derek's sudden arrival but underneath that is a sudden sharp burst of arousal that Derek files away for future reference.

Stiles is a lot of things but stupid, contrary to what this situation would imply, isn't one of them. Derek knows that Stiles understands whether he's on the job or not, ignoring Derek at this point in time would only end badly.

"Hey D, what's up man," Stiles greets him, overly bright and enthusiastic. "What have you been up to?"

Derek glares back at him. "Not much," Derek says, his tone clipped and even. "What about you?"

"Same old same," Stiles replies. "You know school, _work_ , the usual."

Derek didn't need the hint. He knows Stiles is working, that what he's interrupted was part of a job and that's the problem. Stiles is _working_. His shirt is stretched at the collar, he's pushed up into the darkest corner of a VIP booth, he's got some strange man's hands—and _scent_ —all over him, touching him in places that Stiles—and Derek—don't want him touched and Stiles is alone. He intentionally, deliberately chose to put himself in this situation. Derek's anger blazes crimson before it melts into a white hot rage.

Derek smiles at Matt and gives him a look of such barely restrained violence that the man visibly recoils, though he still doesn't let go of Stiles. Derek's smile twists and his lets himself shift ever so slightly so that everything about him looks just a little less human and when he speaks his voice is lethal, sharper than an executioners blade and twice as deadly. "I'm going to give you a choice," he tells Matt. "You let him go and then walk out of here or you keep holding onto him and get carried out of here. No matter what you choose you're leaving, you won't be coming back and you will never come near Stiles again, ever."

Stiles groans. "Look Captain Caveman, you can't just—"

Derek's hand latches onto Stiles's wrist. His grip is too tight to be entirely comfortable but not tight enough to bruise and he squeezes just once in warning. "Not another word," Derek orders.

Stiles, being Stiles, opens his mouth to fire back a snappy retort but Matt speaks up first. "Sure I'll go, buddy. But I'm taking him with me." Matt tightens his grip on Stiles and prepares to haul him bodily up out of the booth.

"Oh hell no, you two are not doing this," Stiles snaps. "You are. You are seriously trying to do this. Fuck a duck. No, don't a fuck a duck. Poor, innocent Daffy has nothing to do with this. Hey, you two this is not about to happen. You guys can take this territorial alpha male bullshit and get the fuck out. I'm not some piece of land you get to plant your flag in and declare yours. I am a strong independent Stiles who don't need no man!"

Derek ignores Stiles's rant and stares at the spot on Stiles's arm where Matt is still holding on. "I guess this means you went for what was behind door number two," Derek shrugs.

Derek wants to rip into Matt. To rend the flesh from his bones and tear into him with teeth and claws and fury for scaring, scenting _,_ and _touching_ his...Stiles.

But Derek is nothing if not a master of control and he knows that no matter how badly he wants to, giving in to his more primal instincts would create more problems than it would solve (especially since Stiles has no idea just who-or what-he's been dealing with) so he harnesses his anger, holds tight to it and does the next best thing.

Quicker than anyone's eyes can track Derek grabs the neck of the champagne bottle and swings. It hits its target and there's a sickening crack of glass against bone before Matt slumps forward onto the table, the black surface glittering with bits of broken glass, turning slick and shiny with spilled champagne, and stained red with blood.

"Get up," Derek hisses at Stiles as he hauls him to his feet and frog marches him out of the club where they run into Jackson who places a hand square in the center of Derek's chest to try to stop him.

"What the hell—"

Derek does not have time for this. He takes his free hand and twists Jackson's wrist until the other hits the ground on his knees. "Get. Out. Of. The. Way." Derek enunciates each word, adding a tiny bit of pressure at the end so Jackson knows that as bad as the pain is now Derek has the power to make it worse if he doesn't move.

"Let him go!" Stiles demands, windmilling out of Derek's grip and then trying to shove him away from Jackson. "What are you even—are you experiencing some kind of _psychotic break_ or something? Did you have Cuckoo Puffs for breakfast this morning? Have you been replaced by a pod person? Are you in a roid rage? _Let him the fuck go!_ " Stiles yells, pummeling Derek.

Derek ignores Stiles's words. He reaches out, drags Stiles in close, holds him tight against his side with one arm and addresses Jackson. "The next time you're supposed to have his back," he begins, "I'm going to need you to do a better job or you and I are gonna have problems. And trust me Jackson, I'm not someone you want to have to problems with. Are we clear?" Derek releases Jackson but he doesn't step back or look away.

"Crystal," Jackson grits out, fixing Derek with a look of pure venom before rising to his feet.

"Oh my God, did you just make him an offer he couldn't refuse?" Stiles demands, his voice high and strained as if he's just (finally) realized that the Derek is (can be) dangerous. "Who the hell do you think you are? What's next? Are you gonna have us say hello to your little friend? Tell us all about how first you get the money, then you get the— "

"Shut up, Stiles."

" _Make me, Derek_."

For a split second Derek thinks about it. Shoving Stiles back against the wall, crowding into his space and using his slight height advantage, the breadth of his shoulders and the mass of his muscles to intimidate Stiles into silence but he dismisses it because that isn't what he wants. He can admit, at least to himself, that he does want Stiles's submission but he doesn't want it because Stiles has been cowed, coerced or intimidated. He doesn't want to take anything that Stiles isn't willing to give. He wants Stiles to bend but he doesn't want—could never want—for Stiles to break.

So Derek takes a deep breath, slides his palm down the length of Stiles's back and attempts to guide him down the block to where Derek has parked his Camaro.

Stiles doesn't cooperate.

"What makes you think I'm going anywhere with you? Are you—are you _high_ right now? I can't even with you right now, Derek. I seriously cannot— "

"Stiles!" Derek barks. It's only been a couple of minutes but he's fairly certain the police are on their way and they all need to leave—now.

"Derek," Stiles snarks back.

"Stiles— " Derek tries again in a slightly gentler tone.

"Derek," Stiles interrupts. "Don't talk to me like that. My dad's a cop okay. That's the 'dealing with the hysterical witness' voice. Don't talk to me like _I'm_ the crazy one. _You're_ the crazy one. I'm the normal one and you're the crazy one. I'm a rational, reasonable, responsible person and you are the one who is _bat shit insane_ so don't talk to me like I'm the hysterical witness because _I am not the god damn hysterical witness_!" Stiles screeches, flapping his arms, gesturing wildly and drawing even more of a crowd.

"No offense Stilinski but right now you kinda are," Jackson butts in. "And as entertaining as this little lover's spat has been, we all need to get the hell out of here before the cops come. I told you before I don't take perp walks."

"Yes Jackson we all know you're too pretty for prison," Stiles says through clenched teeth. "Where'd you park the Porsche?"

"You're coming with me," Derek says, his fingers bunching in the fabric of Stiles's shirt.

"The hell I am," Stiles disagrees.

"Then you're taking the subway because I'm not getting in the middle of you and Encino Man over there. If he wants to grab you by the ponytail and drag you back to his cave I'm not gonna stop him," Jackson says.

"Friends don't let friends drive away with homicidal maniacs."

"You're an idiot. He's not gonna hurt you," Jackson rolls his eyes. "But if he does I'm sure Lydia, Erica and McCall will come up with something to avenge you," he says as he walks away.

"Oh you fucknugget!" Stiles yells after him. "If they find my dismembered corpse floating in the Hudson I'm gonna haunt you so hard, I swear to God. I'm gonna be Stiles the Vengeful and Unfriendly Ghost!"

"Noted," Jackson yells back as he flips Stiles the bird and disappears around the corner.

There's a small crowd around them now and Derek guides them through it and over to the Camaro. They make it into the car and drive off around the corner just as the squad cars pull up to the club and Derek lets out a relieved breath. The last thing they needed was for any of them to get arrested. Neither of them speaks to the other and the silence is only broken when Stiles receives a text from Lydia informing him that they'd successfully located and secured the grimoire. Stiles's scent spikes with a heady dose of triumph before it levels off again revealing to Derek that Stiles is no longer quite as angry as he was when they left the club. He's still furious though and that's fine because Derek isn't exactly feeling like a pocketful of sunshine either.

They make it all the way to Derek's and Stiles stomps over the threshold, throws himself into "their" armchair and glares at Derek as if he's trying to figure out how to make his head explode with his mind.

Derek ignores Stiles and grabs a beer from the fridge. It's a specialty brew and unlike most of the alcohol in his home he'll actually feel the effects of this one and that's a good thing because the angry, disapproving silence from Stiles has Derek ready to vibrate out of his skin.

"First, you ever put your hands on one of my friends again and I will light your ass up like a motherfucking Christmas tree. I have a genius who knows how to make Molotov cocktails and I'm not afraid to use her. I don't care if it's just Jackson,  _nobody_ _hurts my friends_. Second, you ever pull something like this again and I am gone," Stiles's voice cuts into the quiet. "I don't know what you were thinking Derek and I don't care. You fucked with my job tonight, man. Weeks of planning, research and surveillance could have all just been pissed away because you saw me with some other guy and got your panties in a twist—"

"You think this happened because I was jealous?" Derek snarls.

"I think this happened because you're _certifiable_ ," Stiles corrects. "You're wearing your crazy pants like they're couture fashion and I gotta tell you Derek, it's not a good look."

"It wasn't about being jealous Stiles-"

"Yeah remember the part where I told you I don't care? Because. I. Don't. Care. I was working. You don't get interfere in my business, Derek. I don't get in yours and you don't get in mine. I had it under control. I was micced," Stiles says, pulling a tiny earpiece out and waving it at Derek. "If I had said my safeword Jackson would have come in— _just like we planned_. You put weeks of work and a potentially huge score in jeopardy tonight—"

Derek throws his beer bottle against the wall and Stiles's mouth snaps closed so quickly there's an audible clacking of his teeth. The both stare at the spot, at the foam and the liquor sliding down the wall and neither of them speaks.

Derek stalks over to where Stiles is and sits on the coffee table in front of him, placing both hands on Stiles's thighs and pulling him forward so that he slumps in the seat before leaning in over him and bracketing him in place. "This isn't about my jealousy," he seethes. "This is about your stupidity. This is about you working with minimal backup and deciding that the best way to get close to a mark with a history of rape and domestic violence was to _seduce_ him— "

"Because it _was_ the best way to get close to him," Stiles interrupts. "I did my research, Derek. I know all about Matt's Ike Turner tendencies and I also know he has a type: Male, young, slim, kinda geek chic, a little twinkish. Who the hell was I supposed to send in? Erica?"

Derek barely bites back an inhuman sound at Stiles's admission that he knew about Matt's history and had chosen to put himself in danger anyway. "You are supposed to be smarter than this," Derek says instead. "Tonight was amateur hour Stiles. You were in there, alone, with a guy who had every intention of fucking you blind whether you wanted it or not. Do you even realize how much danger you put yourself in?"

Derek can't cover the note of panic, of legitimate concern at the thought that something could have and most likely would have happened to Stiles if he hadn't intervened but he can tell that Stiles has no fucks to give about Derek's good intentions because the kid is livid.

"Are you—you better not be— _you're lecturing me_? What the—you think we're Wally and Beaver all the sudden? You think I need you to show me the ropes? You gonna teach me how to ride a two wheeler and tie my shoes next, Derek? You've got brass ones Bucko because from where I'm standing _you're_ the one who needs the lecture on not acting like an amateur or do all _professionals_ crack people over the head with champagne bottles in high profile public places? Cause I gotta say, that was some A plus conflict resolution there, Derek. Don't fight, don't argue, just hit that bitch with a bottle. Do you take all your social cues from rap lyrics? What's next? You gonna go to that diner over on 23rd, pick up a cop and literally fuck the police? I know I've asked this like ten times tonight already but seriously Derek, are you crazy? Are you on medication? Did you miss a dose? Are you having some kind of an episode?"

"Bitch I might be," Derek deadpans.

Stiles responds by shoving Derek back and trying to get up out of the chair. "Oh you got jokes now? This is my business, Derek. You think this is a game? "

"No, but you do" Derek seethes, shoving Stiles back down, "You and all your little friends treat this like this it's some fucking grand adventure at sleep away camp. You're _nineteen_ and you got into this on a fucking lark and you keep doing it because you guys get off on the adrenaline rush. Not one of you takes this seriously. You're all in fucking college, _planning futures_ , taking for granted that you even _have_ one, like it's a given that you can walk away. What the hell makes you think you'll be given a fucking choice? This isn't a part job at the fucking mall. You don't get to hand in your two weeks' notice. How much deeper do you think you can get in before Jackson actually does have to take a perp walk or Scott catches a bullet? _You're nineteen and you have no idea_. You think whatever Deaton's paying you would be enough to get the broken look off of Lydia's face if something happened to you? Would it be enough to put Scott back together if he lost his best friend? Would it make your father— "

"You don't get to talk about my father," Stiles cuts Derek off.

"What about me? Do I get to talk about me, Stiles?"

"What about you? Jesus, why are you acting like I did something to personally offend you? I was _working_ , Derek and it had _nothing_ to do with you. I wasn't thinking about—"

"You weren't thinking at all," Derek yells. "You are so fucking—you don't even realize. All the people you hold together, all the people that need you. You can book another job. Recoup losses. Rebuild a reputation but you can't replace people. Once you lose them, they're gone. I can't lose –I won't lose anyone else."

Stiles is quiet for a few moments before he lays a gentle hand on Derek's cheek. "I know that there are things you lose that you can never get back, Derek. I may just be nineteen but I know that. So I get it, but I need you to get that tonight wasn't about you and you can't do this again. I know I'm cutting it close but I would never let us get in too deep to get out. I wouldn't do that to any of them and I wouldn't do that to myself."

"You were in there alone and he was treating you like a piece of meat," Derek says, the words ripped out of his throat, rough and raw. "Like you were just a means to an end, like he could take you and break you, use you for what he wanted to use you for and then just walk away from the fallout free and clear like he wasn't responsible for the mess left behind—"

"I'm not you," Stiles interrupts softly. "I'm pretty sure somewhere in there we stopped talking about me, or at least just about me. You don't have to give me the details—and I'm not asking for them—but you do have to recognize I'm not you. And Matt's not…whoever it was that did that to you. I…I know I'm young and I don't handle things the way you would but this works for me, Derek. I'm good at this, really good at it, and you have to trust that I know what I'm doing."

"I'm not apologizing because I'm not sorry," Derek says, dropping a kiss onto Stiles's palm. "You're naïve, Stiles. That's not a criticism or me being an ass or trying to pull the older and therefore wiser card that's just an ugly truth. You're naïve and for all your research, all of your planning, you don't seem to understand that if you stay in this world sooner or later you're going to have to get your hands dirty, sooner or later shits gonna go sideways and you're going to lose-your score, a member of your crew, your freedom or your life."

"Derek—"

"You think you're smartest guy in the room," Derek says taking his hands and framing Stiles's face, "And nine out of ten times you probably are. You think you can talk your way out of anything and nine out of ten times you probably can. What you don't seem to realize is tonight was that tenth time, Stiles. There wasn't going to be any talking your way out of things and Jackson was too far away to actually help you if you needed it—and make no mistake you did need it."

"I was handling it."

"Badly," Derek states. "He had you trapped as if you were prey— "

"Are you narrating a nature documentary? I wasn't trapped like prey. Who even says that— "

"He said something that scared you," Derek continues. "I don't know what he said but I could sm-see it all over you. You were afraid and that is unacceptable."

"You don't get to decide for me," Stiles starts before Derek kisses him quiet.

Derek bites down a little too hard on Stiles's lower lip, drawing a tiny bit of blood to the surface and licking it way. "Nobody hurts you but me," he murmurs

Stiles tenses for a split second before completely going slack and returning the kiss. When he pulls away again his lips are a kiss bitten red, spit shiny and swollen. "I don't need—look Derek this isn't _50 Shades of Grey_. I don't want that from you," Stiles says before diving back in and kissing Derek again.

His voice is strong and steady but Derek can hear the uptick in his heartbeat, the stutter over the words ' _I don't want'_ , smell the citrus sharp tang of deceit. It's the first time Stiles has ever lied to him.

"Yes you do," Derek murmurs before pulling Stiles to his feet and walking him into the bedroom. As soon as the door closes behind them Derek knows that Stiles is probably expecting them to follow the same script they've been working from since this thing between them began, for Derek to pin him against the nearest flat surface, strip him bare and _take_. And Derek intends to—later—but first he needs to know what Stiles is willing to _give_.

Derek kisses Stiles, syrup slow and feather light before stepping away and beginning to strip. He toes off his shoes and socks, makes short work of his button up and the tank he had on underneath and unbuttons and unzips his slacks, pushing both them and his boxer briefs down over his hips and down his legs in one go. When Stiles makes to follow suit Derek's hands snap out and cover his. "Not yet," Derek murmurs. "I want you to wait. I want to watch."

"Ooookay," Stiles drawls out. "Is this gonna be a kinky sex thing? Because I'm feeling like this might be a kinky sex thing. Not that I'm opposed to this being a kinky sex thing mind you, but I'm a little lost and I just kind of need you to use your words here. You know proper negotiation of kinks and all."

Derek nods and then curls a hand around the back of Stiles's neck, cupping it and drawing him in closer. Stiles exhales and relaxes into the touch, eyes flickering closed briefly.

"It's not a kinky sex thing," Derek whispers. "We're a little bit more than that now."

"Derek," Stiles turns his head away and breathes. "I don't—"

Derek hears the rhythm of Stiles's heart falter and smiles. "Yes, you do," he repeats, kissing Stiles once more before making his way across the room and up onto the bed.

Derek lies back against the headboard and tells Stiles to undress himself, instructing him to do it slowly. Stiles maintains eye contact with Derek, the flush on his cheeks and the slight shake in his hands as he undoes his buttons the only visible signs that he's thrown by the change in their routine. Derek can't smell any distress or fear polluting the spicy-sweet scent of arousal in the air and he rumbles in satisfaction. Stiles may not be ready to admit to what he wants or ask for what he needs but that won't stop Derek from giving it to him. When Stiles is finally naked Derek motions him over, holding his hand out, giving Stiles the option of whether or not to take it.

Stiles accepts, long fingers lacing around Derek's in a grip that is solid and sure. There's no hesitance or reticence in Stiles's actions. He's not giving in, Derek knows Stiles well enough to know that he's not, but he is letting go, putting himself in Derek's hands if only for the night, and for the moment that's enough.

For the moment that's everything.

Derek draws Stiles in, kissing him slow and deep, guiding him onto the bed and pulling him down until he's lying underneath Derek. Derek pauses and takes a minute to look his fill.

Stiles is beautiful. He's spread out long and lean on Derek's bed, his complexion contrasting perfectly with the deep red of Derek's sheets. His pale skin has a pretty pink blush that starts at the top of his ears and extends down his chest. Stiles is littered with a smattering of beauty marks that Derek follows, nipping and biting along the path as they dart back and forth and decorate the canvas of Stiles's skin. A bead of sweat drips down into the dips and valleys of Stiles's collarbone and Derek chases it with the tip of his tongue, slowly licks it away and lets the mixture of salt and the taste of _Stiles_ burst open

Derek balances his weight on one forearm and with the other hand he maps Stiles's body. He lets his fingers trail over Stiles's collarbone, down his chest, traces around the stiffened peaks of his nipples and down over his lightly defined abs before scraping through his happy trail.

Stiles's hands are doing their own exploration of Derek's body, ghosting over Derek's biceps and smoothing over the muscled planes of his back, traveling the dip of his spine and over the swell of his ass before moving back up his sides and beginning the trip all over again. His head falls back on a groan, baring his throat to Derek.

Derek immediately latches onto Stiles's throat. He allows his canines to lengthen and bites down with gentle force, careful not to break the skin while biting and sucking his mark into Stiles's skin.

Stiles's back bows and he offers his neck, chasing the sensation. His fingers tighten on Derek's shoulders and his voice broke as he vocalizes his pleasure. "Derek," he breathes.

Hearing Stiles whisper his name as if it were a benediction stirs emotions in Derek that no one has ever managed to bring out in him. "Say my name again," he whispers, halfway between a plea and a command. "I want to hear it, come on Stiles, say it again."

"Derek," Stiles complies immediately; pressing his shoulders back into the mattress and giving Derek even more access to his neck. "I'll call your name, recite the alphabet and sing the fucking Spice Girls if you promise to get your cock in me in the next five seconds," Stiles moans.

"Is that right," Derek chuckles before sliding his lips up one side of Stiles's neck and biting down on his earlobe. "Can I tell you what I want, what I really, really want," he murmurs into Stiles's ear.

"Only if you're gonna fuck me after," Stiles says, turning his head and biting down lightly on Derek's shoulder. "Because that's I want, what I really, really want," Stiles breathes as he wraps one leg around Derek's hip and runs his foot the length of Derek's leg, from his calf all the way up to this thigh.

"Impatient," Derek chides, caressing down the side of Stiles's body before leaning over and taking a bottle of lube and a condom out of the nightstand. He pops the top and slicks his fingers before reaching between them and wrapping his fingers around Stiles's erection.

Stiles jerks, his hips leaving the mattress and pushing himself up into Derek's grip. "Oh God," he moans as he thrusts into the circle of Derek's fist.

Derek takes his thumb and swipes over the pre-come that has pooled at the mushroom of Stiles cock. When Stiles keens Derek swallows the sound down, kissing him soundly before rising up and positioning himself between Stiles's spread thighs.

Derek pours more lube over his fingers and then pushes one inside of Stiles, twisting and curling it, letting Stiles get used to the initial intrusion before adding a second and then a third finger, stretching Stiles and preparing him to take his cock.

Stiles rides Derek's fingers, pushing back against him, clenching down around the digits and moans every time Derek brushes across his prostate.

Once he can tell that Stiles is ready Derek pulls his fingers out and grabs the condom. He hesitates for a moment, holding the square packet up between his fingers. "I'm negative," he says making eye contact with Stiles.

Stiles swallows thickly and Derek tracks the movement, can see the nervousness in Stiles's gaze and smell his indecision. "Whatever you want," he tells Stiles.

"I'm negative too," Stiles says softly.

"That's good to know but that's not an answer," Derek tells him. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you," Stiles whispers. "I trust you not hurt me, Derek. You don't have to, no I mean I don't want you to wear a condom," Stiles decides.

Derek feels something loosen in chest at the clumsily worded declaration of trust. He knows that he and Stiles are probably moving too fast and skipping way too many steps but he wants this; the connection, the trust, Stiles giving himself over into Derek's hands and believing he'll be kept safe there.

Wants it bad enough to accept it even though he knows he doesn't deserve it.

Derek ditches the condom and quickly slicks up his cock, spreading Stiles wide and lining up at Stiles's entrance before pushing forward and sinking into the tight heat of Stiles's ass. After what feels like too long and not quite long enough Derek finally slides all the way inside, buried to the hilt and surrounded by the velvet silk of Stiles's inner walls. Beneath him Stiles pants, his body quivering. Long fingers grasp Derek's biceps and Stiles's cock and balls brush against Derek's lower abdomen flushed and tight with arousal. Grabbing Stiles's hips, Derek holds him at an angle as he moves, easing his cock back. Stiles's eyes widen and his mouth drops open right about the time Derek feels his cockhead bump over the younger man's prostate.

He thrusts slowly at first, making sure that nothing hurts Stiles. Then, as the _hot tight wet perfect_ of Stiles's body begins to overwhelm him he thrusts harder. The expression of pure bliss etched across Stiles's face tells him everything he needs to know about how much Stiles enjoys what Derek's doing to him. His hips meet Stiles's and the ridges of muscle on Derek's belly keep brushing Stiles's erection forcing desperate pleas and lavish praise to fall from Stiles's lips.

Stiles is wrecked; needy and desperate, shaking and shuddering, completely strung out and undone by the slick slide of Derek's cock inside him. He's wanton and begging, his fingers gripped tight around Derek's arms, heels digging into Derek's ass urging him to thrust harder, deeper, faster, to give him more. When his teeth sink into Derek's shoulder in an unknown parody of a claiming bite Derek has to hold tight to the reins of his self control to keep from forcing Stiles's head back, exposing his throat and sinking his canines in deep, branding his mark of ownership into the man beneath him.

Instead he bites his own lip hard enough to draw blood and gives Stiles everything he asks for. He fucks him harder, deeper, faster, taking him so hard the headboard rams into the wall and the bed frame shakes beneath them. When the spiraling heat in his groin spreads and begins to tingle at the base of his spine, Derek knows doesn't have much longer. He braces himself and drives home in a series of short, hard thrusts. Stiles tightens around him and comes with Derek's name on his lips. Derek follows soon after, spilling his seed into Stiles, marking him deep inside with his release.

Derek spends the rest of the night using his mouth and hands and come to erase Matt's scent from Stiles's skin. He pushes Stiles harder and takes him further than he ever has before and Stiles responds beautifully, eagerly.

When he wakes up in the morning Stiles is gone. There's coffee in the machine and the note under his breakfast plate reads 'Give me time.'

Stiles avoids Derek for the next month and Derek pretends not to miss him.

* * *

The next time they see each other they're both working Adrian Harris but from different angles and with different goals in mind. Stiles manages to liberate whatever item of mysterious and/or nefarious origin he's been contracted to retrieve and Derek successfully "persuades" Harris to hand over a list of names of hunters working outside the code. His first instinct when he'd been approached by Chris Argent was to turn him down—with his fangs and his claws—but the chance to rid the world of more of Kate's ilk proved too tempting to pass up. Argent had assured him that he and the rest of his people would do their own house cleaning but Derek had committed that list to memory and if Argent couldn't get the job done Derek had no doubts that he could.

But that was one possible scenario out of a dozen and Derek doesn't want to spend any more time contemplating it than he had to, especially since Stiles had shown up at door with a Meat Lover's pizza and the biggest bottle of lube Derek had ever seen.

They eat naked in bed, Stiles practically inhaling the food and Derek bemoaning his lack of table manners until Stiles smugly points out that they're not at a table. As Stiles sticks his tongue out at him and intentionally chews with his mouth open Derek admits, if only privately, that he's missed this, that he's missed them. Stiles's eyes sparkle with mischief and Derek shakes his head and hides his smile. Stiles's happiness makes Derek more content and satisfied than he has any right to be.

After they finish eating, Derek moves the empty pizza box off the bed and kisses Stiles like the world is ending. Derek presses Stiles into the mattress and reaches across him to grab the lube off the nightstand.

Once his fingers close around it he tosses the bottle onto the pillows and pulls Stiles's legs around his waist. Derek knows he should go slower, savor it a little more but it's been weeks since he's had Stiles and he isn't willing to wait any longer. He makes quick work of preparing Stiles, spreading the cool gel onto his fingers, sliding them inside, twisting, curling and separating them until Stiles is and open and ready before slicking up his cock and sliding inside.

Stiles moans and Derek slips in another half inch, reveling in the way Stiles bares his neck when he's breeched. Stiles tosses his head from side to side on the pillow, fists digging deep into the sheets bunched under his fingers, Derek's name tumbling out over his lips as his body relaxes and opens up to Derek until he's taking everything, taking all of him.

It's the most beautiful thing Derek has ever seen.

Derek wants to go slow. He wants to show Stiles that he can be gentle, that they can be sweet but his body isn't in tune with his brain. Weeks of separation have Derek's instincts at the forefront and all Derek can do is _feel_ and all he can feel is _Stiles_ : the drag his skin as they shift and slide over each other, the velvet heat as his body opens up, wraps around and accepts Derek's, the sting of his nails as they rake across his back and the bite of Stiles's teeth as they sink into Derek's shoulder.

It's too much and not enough. The logical, rational part of Derek's brain knows that regardless of the way it makes his blood heat, his heart race and his canines drop, what Stiles keeps doing isn't a claiming bite.

But Derek wants it to be and the realization is enough to push the boundaries of his self control. Derek has to close his eyes and fight the desire to bury both teeth and cock deep into Stiles, claim him inside and out. When the urge passes Derek thrusts into Stiles with long, smooth strokes plunging deeper and deeper, pushing as far inside of Stiles as he can until the entire bed is rocking beneath them.

When Stiles is reduced to broken moans and incoherent babbling Derek slows down his thrusts, dragging his cock out of Stiles's clenching hole, withdrawing almost completely before pushing back in, brushing over Stiles's prostate with every pass.

When Stiles begins to shake and clench around him Derek tightens his grip on Stiles's thighs and pistons in and out, one hand wrapping around Stiles's cock and stroking him in time with his thrusts.

Stiles's inarticulate begging reaches its crescendo as his voice rises in pitch and the beginning of Derek's name chokes off into a scream and dies, the sound frozen on Stiles's lips as he spasms and shakes through his orgasm. The sight of Stiles coming undone beneath him sends Derek over the edge after him. His balls pull tight to his body, sending tingles up and down his spine, heralding his orgasm.

"I'm yours, Stiles. I'm all yours," Derek says, unable to hold the words back.

"Damn right you are," Stiles agrees.

The acknowledgment, the _acceptance_ , almost destroys what fragile control Derek has left. He fights against the urge to tangle his fingers in Stiles's hair, push his head to the side and bite down. His fangs ache to drop as he imagines the hot, sweet taste of Stiles flooding his mouth and the anchoring weight of an unbreakable bond between them snapping into place and settling deep into his bones.

It takes everything in Derek to keep his teeth blunt, human, and away from the vulnerable, tempting curve of Stiles's neck as he comes hot and hard, pumping his seed deep into Stiles, marking him on the inside in a way he aches to do on the outside. He sinks down on top of Stiles, boneless, breathless, completely sated and utterly, totally fucked.

They are a mess of sweat and come and Derek doesn't even want to contemplate the state of his sheets but neither of them moves until Stiles starts poking Derek in the side complaining about being squished.

"I'm not that heavy," Derek huffs.

"I'm a fragile, delicate flower, Derek. You gotta handle me with care," Stiles says shoving Derek over into the worst of the wet spot and then climbing on top of him. "I probably should have said something earlier, in the interest of safer sex and all, but if we're climbing Bareback Mountain on a regular basis, I kinda need to be the only guy you don't know how to quit."

"Stiles—"

"Look, I know I said before that I trusted you—and I do—it's just that I don't—this isn't a thing that I do with just anybody, Derek," Stiles explains, slightly defensive.

Derek sifts a hand through Stiles's hair and presses a kiss to his temple. "I'm not just anybody," Derek says.

"No, you're not," Stiles agrees immediately. "You're mine."

"Been yours for a long time now, Stiles," Derek replies before forcing himself to get up and go into the bathroom for a wet washcloth to clean them up with. He's grateful for the chore since it gives him an excuse to get the hell out of dodge for a few minutes and avoid dealing with the wreckage of the emotional bomb he just dropped.

When he comes back he expects to find Stiles quietly—or not so quietly—freaking out. What greets him however is Stiles sitting up in the middle of the bed, face open and happy, smiling at him and making grabby hands at the washcloth.

"Just so you know," Stiles says casually as he's handing the cloth back to Derek, "I'm yours too."

"I want you to be," Derek says quietly. The words start tumbling out before he's even made the conscious decision to speak them. "Stiles, there are things that you need to know first. Things that might change—"

"If this is the big 'Grr Grr I'm a werewolf speech' you're about a month too late with that breaking news," Stiles interrupts.

Derek manages to keep the surprise off his face only by sheer force of will. "How—"

"Marin Morrell," Stiles answers. "The morning after that clusterfuck with Matt at the club I got rush job from Deaton. They are having some sort of disagreement and he hired me to liberate some items that he no longer felt comfortable allowing her to have in her possession. While we were doing the prelim work my computer guy may have come across a file that she had on you and your crew—"

Derek's heart seizes in his chest.

"He didn't read it," Stiles says and Derek's heart starts beating again. "Not because Greenberg's just that nice of a guy but because I was right there when he found it and I wouldn't let him."

"You read it though," Derek remarks as his heart picks back up its rhythm.

"Yep," Stiles nods. "She had pictures. Most of them were all overexposed or blurred out or something but there were a few of you guys um, shifting, I guess? And some of a really big, black wolf that looked like it would make Grey Wind his bitch. Just so you know, your face does some very interesting things and your wolf form is very…lethal looking."

Derek would deal with Marin and the fact that she'd apparently had him under surveillance later. Right now Stiles took priority. "And after you read it you accepted the fact that I'm more than human?"

"Hell no," Stiles denies. "First I freaked out, like all the way out. I may have had one foot in the door of the supernatural world for awhile now but I never actually _believed_ werewolves and magic and the whole nine yards existed. I figured some very rich people with some very active imaginations were paying me very large piles of very real money to get their grown up D &D accessories for them. Finding out that 'Surprise, werewolves are real and you've been banging one for over a year now!' was a bit of a shock. So no, Derek. Acceptance did not come easy. After I finished freaking out, I got really, gloriously, ridiculously drunk. Then I freaked out while I was hung over, had a massive panic attack because—hello, werewolves—and then after avoiding you for a few weeks and feeling like total ass, _then_ I accepted it because I realized that you being more than human doesn't make you any less mine. And it didn't make me any less yours."

"You know what it means to declare yourself mine?" Derek asked softly, crossing over to the bed and sitting down beside Stiles. "Do you have any idea what it means to me, for you to be mine? The things I'd do for you?"

Stiles nods. "I did some research."

"Of course you did."

"So I'm pretty sure it means no take backs, no do overs, permanent lock. I'm also pretty sure it means that you'll cut a guy in half and cut off his hands for hurting me and while that should freak me out because murder is bad, m'kay…it doesn't. I don't want to run from you, from us, anymore and I won't let you either."

"That right?" Derek asks, raising an eyebrow.

"You're mine, Derek Hale," Stiles says, pulling Derek up off the bed and starting to strip the sheets. "So tomorrow we'll have breakfast, you'll make me some waffles, we'll eat out on the terrace—without you bitching about the amount of syrup I use and how I'm going to get diabetes—and you'll tell me what we have to do to be werewolf official."

Derek nods and then leaves the room to gather a fresh set of sheets from the linen closet. Adjustments are going to have to be made and boundaries redefined. Stiles will, of course, need to be given a crash course in both pack dynamics and exactly what being bonded to a werewolf was going to do to his life. His pack needs to be informed, he needs to schedule a visit with Laura and Peter, have any loose ends tied up and potential threats eliminated but to Derek all of that is a small price to pay in order to belong to Stiles and have Stiles belong to him. Derek still isn't convinced that he deserves the happiness that he's been given but he's going to take it and he's going to do everything in his power to hold onto it. He belongs to Stiles and Stiles belongs to him and in the end, that's really all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU Matt has an extensive history of perpetrating violence, including non-con and being domestically violent with former partners. None of this occurs in the fic but his history is referenced and he does get physically aggressive with Stiles.
> 
> The dub-con refers to unwanted touching that occurs between Stiles and Matt while Stiles is pretending to be interested in Matt so that his team can search his hotel room.
> 
> Some clarification on the AU: Obviously this is based on canon events but set in an AU. Instead of California, it's set in New York.
> 
> Erica, Lydia, Jackson and Scott are Stiles's peeps while Boyd, Danny and Issac are Derek's. (Somehow I managed to write this entire thing without including Cora or Allison and I am deeply ashamed of that b/c Cora and Allison rock).
> 
> Werewolves are still a thing, but the only characters that retain their wolvihood in this AU are Derek, Peter, Laura, Boyd and Isaac. Danny gains his wolvihood while Scott, Erica and Jackson lose theirs. Deaton and Marin are still mysterious emissaries of mystery, The Argents are still Hunters. Papa Stilinski is still the Sheriff of Beacon Hills. Derek and Kate, as well as the Hale fire still happened but Peter recovered quicker than he did in canon. Kate still dies but Peter isn't the one who kills her and the Alpha pack is mentioned but they have quite a different ending than the one they got in canon.
> 
> Lupus is one of the constellations that Stiles points out to Derek. The stars that form the constellation Lupus used to be part of Centaurus constellation. They represented a sacrificed animal impaled by the centaur, who was holding it toward the constellation Ara, the altar. nstellation was not associated with any animal in particular until the Renaissance times, when the Latin translation of Ptolemy’s work identified it with the wolf. 
> 
> The Greeks knew the constellation as Therium, a wild animal, and the Romans called it Bestia, the beast. In Greek times, the constellation was probably taken to represent a creature based on the Babylonian figure of the Mad Dog.
> 
> The creature was a hybrid, with a human head and torso and legs and tail of a lion. The creature, frequently associated with the sun god and Bison-man, which is another creature from myth, was called UR.IDIM, with UR referring to a large carnivore, which could have been a lion, wolf, or a dog.
> 
> The story of Lupus Derek refers to knowing is a Greek myth about Lycaon, king of the Arcadians, who served Zeus with the flesh of the god’s own son and was punished by being turned into a wolf and having all fifty of his sons killed. 
> 
>  
> 
> I *think* that's everything. If you have any questions or comments they are totally welcome and if you want to check out my tumblr you can do so right [HERE.](http://st-sebklaine.tumblr.com)


End file.
